


we're so goddamn young!

by ladymemebeth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Halloween, Hogwarts, M/M, Marauders' Era, POV Multiple, Recreational Drug Use, autumn 1978, gender feelings, outdated pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymemebeth/pseuds/ladymemebeth
Summary: a belated halloween one-shot set at the marauders' final hallowe'en feast/ball.





	we're so goddamn young!

**Author's Note:**

> mdfgfgfdh i tried to have this done before halloween but clearly i did not succeed!! oh well!!
> 
> cw for alcohol

Halloween seems to have been made for the Marauders. A whole holiday devoted to mischief, spookiness, and frights, with an added element of disguise and trickery — how could it _not_ have been invented specifically for them? Throughout their time at Hogwarts, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had gone out of their way each year to claim their title as the Kings of Halloween, even though Remus insisted that this wasn’t an actual royal designation. Their last Halloween at Hogwarts should have been their most extravagant, which is why James was particularly irritated with Sirius, who had decided to shirk the rest of the group in favor of his own costume.

“I’m just saying, mate, no one’s going to know who you are,” he said, running a comb through the long white beard he had charmed onto himself. The frosty glow of the beard was in stark contrast with James’ dark skin, but he thought he pulled off the look rather charmingly, though he hadn’t had time to perfect the charm and thus had to use extra Spellotape to get the beard to fit securely on his chin.

“So?” Sirius replied. “It just adds to my air of mystery.” He was dressed barely in drag as Patti Smith, clad in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a narrow tie hanging, untied, from his neck. He had teased his hair out to resemble hers and drawn dark kohl under his eyes. He looked terribly intense, brooding, with his jacket slung over his shoulder; it was hardly any different than how Sirius normally looked, though perhaps the androgyny had been played up slightly. It was rather low-effort, James had complained, and Peter was quick to agree. Remus was just glad that Sirius’ departure from the group’s theme meant that he did not have to dress up as Professor Flitwick. (“It’s funny because you’re the tallest and he’s short,” James had said during their initial planning process.) Remus was instead going as a scarecrow, which was similarly low-effort because it was basically his own Muggle clothing —brown corduroys, a burgundy and orange madras shirt, a brown cap — with bits of hay stuck in the cuffs. That left only Peter to follow suit with the theme, and he played his part well: in long green dress robes and a witch’s hat upon his head, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, he looked remarkably similar to Professor McGonagall despite being a good foot shorter than her. 

“Well, everyone’s going to know who _I_ am,” James said, admiring his reflection in the mirror. “I think I give ol’ Dumbledore a run for his money, eh?”

Remus shrugged and reached for the bottle of vodka that they had been sharing since the four of them started putting on their costumes. If they were not going to go along with his brilliant costume idea, James had to at least ensure that the Marauders would not show up to their final Hallowe’en Feast sober, and had goaded Peter into purchasing an impressive amount of alcohol on their last visit to Hogsmeade. Peter had not gone out of his way to purchase anything particularly good, though that was hardly a concern of theirs; the goal was to get smashed, James reminded them, not to have a quaint dinner party.

The trick, of course, was getting drunk without being so obvious that they were not allowed into the ball. This was not an issue for Remus, who regularly drank the rest of them under the table, but both Sirius and Peter were already looking a bit wobbly. James had been too preoccupied with his costume to join them for any of the rounds of shots the three of them had partaken in earlier, and was attempting to play catch-up. 

Seeing this, Remus took it upon himself to drink as much of the cheap vodka as he could stomach while James cracked open a bottle of Firewhiskey. Large group settings weren’t particularly his bag, but they were even less so without the social lubricant of alcohol. He liked being drunk, though vodka was certainly not his first choice; he preferred wine because it made him feel warm and drowsy and languid, unfettered by his nerves, but the rest of them were intent on developing a taste for hard liquor and therefore did not provide such variety for him. The full moon had fallen only a few days prior to the holiday, and Remus was still quite sore from the transformation. But he was determined to have a good time anyway, and if alcohol eased that process, he wasn’t going to complain. 

“I think we still have a chance at winning best Costume Duo,” Peter said to James. He patted absently at the toy cat that he had affixed to the shoulder of his robe. “Since we aren’t really a Group Costume anymore.”

Sirius snorted. “Isn’t the category Couple’s Costume?” he asked, then addressed James. “How are you going to pull Evans if you’re tied up with Pete for the night?” 

“For your information, I am not trying to _pull_ tonight,” James sniffed. “Halloween is a holiday for mischief and merrymaking, and if I get laid, then, well, that’s just a bonus.” Despite his serious expression, he didn’t sound wholly convinced. James turned back to the mirror and considered himself, as if rethinking his choice to go as Dumbledore for the first time. The man may have style, but he was certainly no sex symbol.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius answered, flapping his hand in James’ face as he reached for the bottle of Firewhiskey. “Just don’t come crying to me about blue balls at the end of the night.” He grinned at them, feral and toothy, before taking an enormous gulp of the spiced liquid.

Remus raised an eyebrow, watching Peter slap Sirius on the back as he coughed. He could feel the flush beginning to rise in his cheeks; at least it would suit his costume, he thought, remembering the rosy painted-on cheeks of the scarecrows in the countryside. He loved the autumn season, always eager for any excuse to wrap himself up in hideous jumpers and stay in bed for hours. He liked the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, the bite in the air, how it made his eyes water when he turned his face to the wind. The mischief of Halloween didn’t matter much to Remus, but he could certainly appreciate James’ passion for the holiday based solely on the calendar date alone. 

“Right, lads,” James said. “Are we ready?”

The four of them downed the rest of the alcohol, grimacing and trying not to show it, made some last few adjustments to their costumes, and strode out to the greet the festivities.

 

—

 

It’s no surprise that Hogwarts knew how to do Halloween right. The Yule Ball was alright for people who like that sort of thing, Sirius would admit, but the Hallowe’en Feast and the party that followed afterwards was the best part of the year. There wasn’t all that nonsense about finding a date; the party was for showing off the cleverest costumes and dancing and generally acting like an idiot, which is how all holidays should be, according to Sirius. The feast itself had been a blur, and he knew he would regret eating so much food on top of the liquor he had already consumed, but he didn’t care. Their time at Hogwarts seemed to be hurtling towards its inevitable conclusion, and Sirius personally wanted to enjoy it as much as possible without thinking about his stupid parents and his stupid brother and the stupid war. 

The party was in full swing by this point: the lights had been lowered and the volume of the music raised after the feast had ended. James and Sirius had to make arses of themselves as quickly as possible, of course, and thusly found themselves in the center of a large group of students, dancing in a way that could only be described as vaguely combative. Peter, suddenly terrified of being recognized by his own costume inspiration, had scurried off to a corner of the Great Hall and seemed to be getting on rather well with some Hufflepuff girl dressed as a French mime. Remus was nowhere to be seen, and though that wasn't out of character, in Sirius’ alcohol-addled mind this registered as a crisis. He slid out from between two girls and stumbled towards the drinks table, scanning the room. It was hard enough to tell his classmates apart when they were all wearing their school robes, but in various states of costume it was damn near impossible to tell who was who. What was Remus dressed as again? A straw man? He wracked his brain, swaying slightly with the music. It was some weird Muggle thing that looked like a more stylized version of Remus’ everyday appearance. Still, he looked charming in his little brown hat, and that had not gone unnoticed by Sirius, who was simply an observant person. Sometimes. Not when it came to identifying his own peers, but with other things. He studied the Hall for several moments before spotting that brown cap bobbing above the frantically-dancing crowd. He waved, swinging his arm in a hugely dramatic fashion that bordered on balletic, until Remus finally noticed and started making his way towards him.

“Hey, mate,” Remus said, raising his voice over the music.

“Hi!” Sirius said. Now that Remus was here, he couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t remember what you’re supposed to be.”

Remus rolled his eyes, trying to hide his laughter. “I’m a scarecrow. They’re like — well, they’re like statues that Muggles put in their fields to…scare the crows.”

Sirius studied Remus for a moment, as if in contemplation. His bones felt like they’d been loosed from their joints and left to swim freely in his body. He leaned forward onto Remus. His body was warm, solid.

“Aren’t you hot in that shirt?” Sirius yelled. He was sweating through his white dress shirt, even though he had already unbuttoned it more than halfway.

Remus shrugged. “Not really. It could have been worse — I could have been dressed as Dumbledore. He wears an awful lot of robes.”

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, Jamesie won’t want to be wearing that much longer…especially if he sees Lily. Oh!” He snickered into Remus’ shoulder, though his sober self would have been less than impressed by his own joke.

“Merlin, you’re such a fucking lightweight,” Remus said. “Three shots and you’re a complete bellend. Some people have all the fun.”

Sirius suddenly stood up straight and grabbed the bill of Remus’ hat. He pulled it down over his eyes and dashed back into the crowd, shouting, “C’mon, Moony! Let’s dance!”

 

—

 

Remus was quite proud of his ability to hold a decent conversation whilst smashed; he supposed he had developed the skill from watching James, Sirius, and Peter, and doing the exact opposite of whatever they did when drunk. In fact, he had been having a lovely chat with Dorcas and Marlene when Sirius started signaling furiously from the other side of the Hall. He hadn’t actually needed anything, of course, just the attention he couldn’t bear to go five minutes without. And still, Remus went, because the eyeliner that Sirius had put on was starting to smear and he had unbuttoned his goddamn shirt and Remus wasn’t _blind_. Recognizable as the American punk poetess or not, Sirius’ Patti Smith impersonation was worryingly attractive. Which he may or may not have been so willing to admit to himself while clear-headed, but he pushed those thoughts away. Sirius was his friend, and it was Halloween, and though it was still early in the first term of the year, everything was already tinged with a sense of finality. Remus had been plagued with anxiety regarding his post-Hogwarts life since he boarded the train in September. “Mate, you’ve got to live in the moment,” James had said when he voiced his concerns one afternoon. The moment, however, didn’t seem to be any less worrisome than the future, especially as he watched Sirius flail about on the dancefloor in an increasingly violent manner. Despite his intense admiration of various boozy, drugged-up rockstars, Sirius wouldn’t last a minute in that scene — he really couldn’t hold his liquor for shit. 

Remus forced himself to bob along to the music, which pitched randomly between Wizard Rock and Muggle music — someone must have complained about the lack of variety at the last dance, though whoever chose the tracks didn’t seem to be particularly caught up on the trends, as it was mostly decades-old dance hits. This didn’t bother the students, however, who probably would have kept dancing even if there had been no music at all. Eventually, the crowd started make him feel just short of panicky, and he gingerly squeezed between the thrashing bodies of his classmates to make his way outdoors.

The courtyard had been decorated similarly to the interior of the Great Hall, with floating candles and jack-o-lanterns and cobwebs strung between the trees. There was some kind of warming charm cast over it, though the temperature was significantly lower without the crush of sweaty adolescent bodies. Remus stepped carefully across the grass, squinting at a weird shape in the corner and jumping back in alarm when he realized it was two fifth-years caught in a passionate embrace. Embarrassed, he turned around to walk towards a bench on the opposite side of the courtyard. Or that’s where he would have gone if he hadn’t instead turned around and smacked into Sirius.

“Oi!” cried Remus, staggering slightly to the side.

“Wotcher, Moony,” Sirius said. His eyes were enormous in the soft light of the candles, their brightness emphasized by the eyeliner. His hair, which had been so meticulously teased at the beginning of the night, had lost some of its volume but still managed to look infuriatingly perfect.

“I didn’t realize you were my chaperone tonight,” Remus said.

“M’not your chaperone,” Sirius slurred, though he seemed to find the notion rather amusing regardless. “I followed you ‘cause I wanted…”

Remus narrowed his eyes. His skull had begun to throb in time with the muffled bass of the music. He thought back to the beginning of the night, trying to recall just how much of that blasted liquor he had consumed. Wine would never have betrayed him like this. “What did you want?”

Sirius laughed then, flinging himself bodily at Remus, nearly knocking the cap off his head. “‘Cause I wanted to see you!” He linked his arms around Remus’ neck, hanging on him not unlike an unruly toddler using an adult as a climbing frame. 

“Well, now you’ve seen me, so,” Remus said. The sticky pressure of Sirius’ clasped hands against the nape of his neck made him feel itchy and strange all over. From this angle, Remus could see the sweat that slicked the bare flesh on Sirius’ chest, the faint hair there — _since when?_ — the patches that had made his shirt go transparent in places. Maybe they should have stuck with the original costume idea, Remus thought fleetingly.

“No one knows who I am,” Sirius whined, unleashing Remus. “Except for you and Pete and James, and that’s ‘cause I _told_ you. Bloody uncultured Wizards.” He jumped up on the nearest stone bench and began to sing in Patti Smith’s angry yelp. “ _People try to put us down! Just because we g-g-g-get around!_ ” He mimicked the short bursts of guitar with some horrific high-pitched vocalizations. “ _I don’t need that FUCKING shit! I hope I die —_ ”

“Alright, alright, very good, mate,” Remus said loudly, cutting him off. He extended a hand towards Sirius, who glowered back at him before taking it and hopping off the bench. 

 

—

 

“They’re the ones who are missing out, you know,” Sirius said after a few moments of silence in which he and Remus sat side by side on the bench, staring across the courtyard at the couple snogging in the shadows. Well, maybe Remus wasn’t staring at them, but Sirius was. And why not? If people are going to do that out in the open, they should _expect_ him to stare. 

“Who’s that?” Remus said. He was not as quick at following conversations while drunk as he liked to think. Remus always wanted to seem so composed and clever, but Sirius knew that he had a mischievous side, that it was Remus who had come up with some of their best pranks. Nobody would ever guess, but nobody knew Remus the way Sirius did, except for James and Peter, and even they didn’t seem to pay attention to him with the same level of clarity. But that was because Sirius was an observant person. Sometimes.

“You know. The people who don’t recognize me.” He leaned onto Remus’ side again. It was still warm and solid. He resisted the urge to breathe in deeply, to smell more of the Firewhiskey that Remus had sloshed on his shirt right before they left their dormitory. “‘Cause they’re all listening to shit music, obviously.”

“Merlin, you are so fucking judgmental,” Remus said, but he was laughing. “Not everyone has to have the same taste as you.”

“But I have the best taste,” Sirius answered plainly. Of course Sirius would only like the best music, would be friends with the best sort of people. He’d spent his whole life living with the worst of the worst, so now he made it a point to only like good things.

Remus didn’t look convinced, and continued gazing out across the courtyard.

“Moony…don’t be angry,” Sirius said. He rested his chin on Remus’ shoulder. The fabric of his madras shirt was a bit scratchy, but Sirius didn’t mind too much. “I’m sorry I said your jazz records were shite that one time.”

“Sod off,” Remus laughed, shoving him off his shoulder. “That’s real music, you know, it requires talent and musicality and — ”

“Yeah, but where’s the _feeling_ in it? It’s just instruments for ages.”

“You don’t have to scream a song for it to have feeling.”

“I guess.” Sirius paused to think about it. He liked listening to music where the singers sounded angry, that blistering quality of their voices. He liked how it almost made him uncomfortable but stopped just short of being unbearable, that strange liminal space between just enjoying something and really experiencing it. “But it’s a lot sexier.”

Remus coughed. “It depends on your definition of sexy.”

Sirius grinned. Remus never talked about this sort of stuff except for when he was well and truly pissed, Sirius knew, and he pounced on the opportunity like some kind of ravenous animal. “Yeah? So what’s your definition then?”

“Er — Who’s that girl in that weirdo band you like — Tina?”

“Tina Weymouth? She looks like a boy!” Sirius laughed, thinking of the photograph on the backside of _Talking Heads: 77_ , which he had listened to nonstop since the summer. She was pretty, yes, with short blond hair and wide blue eyes, dwarfed by the huge bass guitar she played. Plain, but pretty, he guessed, and rather like a boy, which didn’t _not_ appeal to Sirius.

“Well, I don’t know,” Remus snapped, voice flinty.

Sirius didn’t notice his irritation, determined not to lose the thread of conversation. “You know who _I_ think is sexy?” he said, lowering his voice, trying not to giggle. He leaned even further into Remus’ space, forcing him to turn and look at him. 

“Who?” 

Sirius stared into Remus’ flushed face for a moment. They were very close together. Finally, Sirius cried, “Patti Smith! Duh! That’s why I wanted to be her!” He cackled for a moment before suddenly sobering, brain aching. His thoughts had become muddled. He glanced around the courtyard, trying to focus his vision on a single flickering candle. “I really do wish I were her.”

“Why?” 

After a long pause, Sirius said quietly, “I don’t know.”

“Well, I think you do a bang-up job of impersonating her,” Remus said, patting Sirius’ knee sort of awkwardly. He started to draw his hand away after a second, but Sirius snatched him by the wrist before he could. 

“I think you make a brilliant crow-man,” Sirius said earnestly, holding Remus’ hand to his bare chest.

“Scarecrow,” Remus corrected. His voice sounded far away. Sirius watched his Adam’s apple move up and down his throat as Remus swallowed thickly. His eyelashes, copper and impossibly long for a boy, cast weird shadows over his cheeks.

Sirius felt that hurtling sensation again, the same thing he felt each time he remembered that this was their final year at Hogwarts, a sense of inevitability that was equal parts awful and thrilling. His stomach roiled briefly, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just due to the combination of multiple different types of alcohol on top of a selection of Halloween-themed desserts, though that may have been part of it. He had wanted Remus to notice him tonight, to see that Sirius cared enough to know that parties weren’t his scene. He hoped Remus knew that he followed him out here to the courtyard, eschewing the riotous pandemonium of the dancefloor because Sirius couldn’t have fun if Remus wasn’t also enjoying himself. He hoped Remus knew these things, somehow, via telepathy perhaps, because he did not know how to explain it himself. Not sober, and certainly not while off his face, as he happened to be right now as he stared into Remus’ familiar features, the silvery scars that crossed them, searching for a hint of recognition. The music from the Great Hall pulsed faintly in the background.

“Remus,” Sirius said. His tongue felt strange, thick between his teeth. His limbs still had that loosened quality, though they felt heavier now than they had whilst dancing earlier. He realized he was still clutching Remus’ hand, curled uncomfortably on itself like a paw, to his chest. He gently placed it back in Remus’ lap. “Well — ” he said, fully intending to stand up and return to the party, confused and a little embarrassed though he wasn’t exactly sure why, when Remus reached forward with both hands, taking Sirius’ face between them. Then Remus kissed him.

Sirius jerked back in shock. “What?” 

Remus flushed crimson. “Sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I’m really quite pissed, mate.” He turned slightly away, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair, making it stand up.

“Er — s’alright. S’good, I — ” Sirius didn’t want to admit that that had been his first kiss, ashamed that he was so clueless when it came to this sort of thing despite all his braggadocio, ashamed that he wanted Remus to do it again. “I mean — Lou Reed kisses blokes all the time, and he’s still cool.”

Remus glanced back at him, wary. “Sure.”

“Remus,” Sirius said. “Can you — would you please do that again?”

Remus looked puzzled, eyes unable to focus. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed. So Remus did, pressing his lips to Sirius’, gentle at first and then more insistent. Maybe that was why Remus liked jazz music over rock, maybe he liked the way the emotions kind of snuck up on you, how you got mired in them without even realizing it. Like how sometimes when Sirius drank he was convinced he couldn’t feel anything until suddenly all the liquor hit him at once, causing him to sway and stutter. Like how he had been sure that he would be at school forever until it was now, partway through his last year. Remus opened his mouth slightly, touching his tongue against Sirius’, which no longer felt quite so heavy and out of place. 

Remus pulled back. “Shall we skive off the rest of the dance, or…?”

Sirius thought for a moment, unable to look away from Remus’ slightly swollen mouth. “Okay.”

Remus stood up, tugging Sirius after him. “Come along, Patti,” he said softly.

Halloween is truly a blessed holiday, Sirius thought to himself, following behind Remus as he squeezed through the crowd and bounded up the stairs to their dormitory.

**Author's Note:**

> "my generation" by patti smith, which sirius sings (also the source of the title)  
> https://youtu.be/2R5lcZFWEwg


End file.
